Trick or Treat
by DezoPenguin
Summary: Lyon isn't particularly fond of Halloween to begin with, but the android Hunter will find that it does in fact get worse when she and Ryland investigate a haunting on board Pioneer 2.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Just for the record, while this story was actually the _first_ Lyon & Ryland fic that I wrote, it takes place _after_ "Year of the Rappy" (December, AUW 3084) and _before _"Heartwired." (February, AUW 3086) Careful readers will, in fact, note the progression of Lyon's weapon choices from fic to fic._

~X X X~

"Hey, watch what you're doing! I'm going to drop it!"

There was a loud curse, a heavy clunk of metal on metal, and Android Weinstine Co. Type L/Y-906 found herself engulfed by a fifteen-foot-wide giant orange pumpkin.

"Aw, geez, you idiot!" one of the two workers berated the other. Type L/Y-906 heard sounds of scuffling feet, a few shrill beeps, and the pumpkin vanished. The workman straightened up from the fallen holoprojector that had activated when it hit the deck. He brushed off his green coveralls and said "Sorry about that." That was nice; many people wouldn't bother apologizing to an android, even if she was a licensed hunter, so Type L/Y-906 nodded politely in return. The workmen spun back to his companion.

"C'mon, Larry, let's pick this thing up. And geez, next time you eat greasy food before a job use a damned napkin. You wanna explain to the Lab how their expensive equipment they're graciously lending for free got busted by your bad hygiene?"

Type L/Y-906 watched bemusedly as the two men hoisted the projector and lugged it off towards the deck edge, where several others were already sending their giant pumpkin images into the air.

"And you wonder why I hate Halloween," the android said to her partner.

"You're just crabby because people mistake you for a decoration." Donovan Ryland glanced up and down the RAcaseal's appearance, observing her matte-black and dull orange body type. She'd have changed it for the season were it not for the cost. Synthskin and carapace sheathing for a high-grade android could run into the five figures.

"Besides, Lyon," Ryland continued mildly, "I hardly think this particular incident is Halloween-specific. It could have as easily been a Christmas tree, a giant heart, or a large colored egg." He took off his square-rimmed glasses, polished them on the capacious sleeve of his Force's robe, and replaced the lenses on his face. "Indeed, since Halloween is tomorrow, I should have thought you'd be glad they waited until now to decorate the deck. Had the decorating committee not squabbled like, well, a committee, you could have been seeing pumpkins in the sky for weeks."

She turned her "android stare" on him. Many people found the blank, glowing-blue lights of her eyes to be unnerving for some reason. Ryland was not one of those people.

"Do you know how irritating that is?"

"What?"

"The fact that I'm a machine but you're the voice of logic in this partnership."

"Nonsense, Lyon; you're always logical. It's only that your personality matrix is designed to include emotional parameters in your analyses, and therefore you come to incorrect conclusions."

"You mean, like the conclusion that I would feel better if I were to pitch you off this deck and wager on whether you'd reach street level without hitting a passing aerocar?"

He grinned up at her.

"Exactly!"

Lyon sighed, or at least her voice synthesizer duplicated a low exhalation of air since she didn't actually breathe.

"I can't win."

Ryland patted her shoulder flange.

"Then at least you've learned a valuable lesson."

She flipped his ponytail around the side of his head so that the tip brushed his nose and, as always, made him sneeze. Conscientiously, she then initiated a systems diagnostic to verify that petty revenge was a valid setting for her personality matrix and not a glitched fragment. Aerocars sailed past in the traffic channels above them while she reassured herself that hair-flipping was an appropriate response to annoying friends.

"If you don't mind me asking, why does Halloween bother you so much?" Ryland asked curiously.

"Well, I know it's a big holiday and all—costume parties, treats for the children, and so on—but what with all that has happened, don't you find it a little inappropriate?"

The colony spaceship _Pioneer 2_ had been sent from its homeworld of Coral to the planet Ragol with thirty thousand settlers on board to assist in starting a new home for those whom the environmentally-ravaged Coral could not support. Yet upon arrival, just as they were about to open communications with the initial colonists of _Pioneer 1_, a tremendous explosion had wiped out all traces of the first settlers on Ragol, leaving their buildings and facilities intact but inexplicably making all the people vanish. Since _Pioneer 2_ lacked a strong military presence, the Administration had commissioned hunters-elite mercenaries independent of governmental or organizational ties—like Lyon and Ryland to investigate the mystery, but they'd turned up more questions than answers. Since then, _Pioneer 2_ had been stuck in orbit, its citizens forced to remain in the artificial city they'd inhabited for their two-year journey, unable to return to Coral yet unable to move forward.

"I'd say that under the circumstances a holiday is exactly what we need," said Ryland. "The people are worried. The government hasn't made an official announcement of the situation, partly because of the political infighting and partly because we don't really know the truth. We hunters can at least take action—go down to Ragol's surface and investigate. Most of the citizens can't, though; they're stuck here, waiting for somebody to tell them they can start living their lives. A chance to relax, have fun—to celebrate, even—is exactly what is called for. A holiday means distraction and happiness, even hope."

Lyon nodded, making her foxtail-like "hair" bob.

"I agree. Anything to cut the tension would be a step in the right direction, and it is certainly doing that. Drex told me that he was training in the Lab's VR system yesterday and found a Rappy wearing a jack-o-lantern on its head! But that isn't what I mean. You're the one who knows all of those old occult stories, so you should know how Halloween got started."

Ryland blinked in surprise, and then slowly a knowing look came into his eyes.

"I think I understand. Halloween—All Hallows' Eve. Most nations and cultures have something of its sort, a Festival of the Dead. The one night of the year when the barriers between the real world and the spirit world are supposed to be at their thinnest."

He paused at one of the narrower walkways of the Guild deck, opposite the teleporter to the Principal's office, and leaned up against the rail, looking out over the city. After a moment, Lyon joined him. She wasn't programmed for emotional introspection based upon a view, but it didn't interfere, either, and it would have been silly to stand back while she and Ryland were having a conversation.

"That is exactly what I mean."

"I'm surprised you know that."

"Hey, just because I'm the muscle of this team doesn't mean I can't think, too!"

"True, but as you pointed out, you _are_ a machine. That kind of implies a modern outlook on life."

"I just had a holographic pumpkin fall on me, so I would say that Halloween is a sufficiently modern concern."

Ryland did of course have a point. Human Forces were very traditional in their training and customs, even though it was only a few decades since techniques—the ability to shape ambient Photon energy into a variety of real-world effects—had been invented. Very clearly they based themselves on the wizards of classical literature. There weren't many other reasons for a man to walk around in a dress ("robe") in the modern world. Newman Forces followed much more creative and varied costumes, but since Newmen themselves had only been invented in the same decade it was only natural that they would seek to define their own way. Ryland took it to extremes, sometimes; he steeped himself in centuries, even millennia of occult lore. It was only natural for him to know all about spiritual traditions.

The truth was that regardless of the labels modern science put on his powers, Ryland considered himself to be a wizard and Photon technology to be nothing more than magic. "Alchemy, rather," he'd once specified. "The scientific method as applied to magical energies and the laws governing them. How else do you explain that I can pull out a Photon handgun, shoot an enemy, and literally drain its Photon energy into me as healing? Or that Photon-based healing medicines like monomates can heal you, entirely made of metal and synthetics with no organic processes at all, as well as me, a biological life form, with exactly the same effects? No, we may call it 'Photon energy' instead of magic and my powers 'techniques' instead of 'spells,' but don't try to tell me that a Force is anything besides a wizard under another name, Lyon—or should I call you _Golem_ Type L/Y-906?"

So yes, despite her appearance, Halloween was definitely more Ryland's cup of tea than Lyon's.

"I just can't help thinking, with thirty thousand people, thirty thousand lost souls claimed in an instant, that this really isn't the right theme for a holiday full of costumes, jack-o-lanterns, and trick-or-treating."

Lyon hugged herself as if cold, a human gesture her programming called for as a response to her emotional state.

"It's a little creepy, if you think about it."

Ryland nodded.

"I see what you mean. Perhaps, then, it would be better to cancel the job I just signed us up for?"

"Cancel? Why should we do that? We really do need the money, after all. My last armor upgrade nearly wiped me out."

"I know, and that's why I took the job. Only now, I wonder if that was the right idea. Feeling as you do about Halloween, do you truly wish to take on a Guild quest to investigate a haunting?"


	2. Chapter 2

Residential Section 2, Block 17C was one of many skyscrapers dotting the city within _Pioneer 2_. Given the limited amount of space within the colony ship, the designers had been forced to think in three dimensions. The effect created a city unlike any other, gave it a unique character all its own, where addresses were not only in terms of section and block but also level.

Some things, of course, were universal, and one of those was that the highest residential levels were those reserved for the wealthy and influential: Council members, the heads of trading corporations, and high-ranking members of the scientific establishment. Perhaps there was something about being in a high tower, lording it down over the masses. Or perhaps, Lyon considered, the rich just used their resources to secure themselves what human aesthetics considered a pretty view..

Whatever the reasons, the fact that Ryland used the roof deck for their aerocar and took the elevator down only two levels from there marked their client as a member of _Pioneer 2_'s ruling elite. The level consisted of four luxury suites instead of the twenty or thirty ordinary residence units squeezed into each of the lower floors.

The nameplate on the door read "Archard." Ryland touched the door-chime, and a small intercom screen phased on.

"Please identify yourselves," stated the female android in a flat voice to which the adjective "mechanical" applied figuratively as well as literally. She was designed to be plump, almost matronly, though the high-gloss copper "skin" beneath its black and white maid's uniform ruined any attempt to project a homey kind of appearance despite what her manufacturers probably advertised about her being "Just like an old-time country housekeeper!"

"We are hunters from the Guild; we have an appointment with Mrs. Archard," Ryland said while Lyon's mind was wandering.

"Thank you." The door slid open with a soft hiss of venting air and the hunters stepped into the foyer, then through it into the large lounge area that served as the central hub of the suite. A window ran the length of one wall, providing a panoramic view of the city, and a well-stocked minibar was the dominant feature next to a high-end Net-access unit used for audio and visual entertainment as well as connecting to _Pioneer 2_'s public datanet. Sofas and chairs were clustered in a horseshoe arc facing the screen around a low, transparent coffee table. A garden display was inset into one of the walls, but the plants were withered and dead, the only disconcerting note in the decor.

The android servant was waiting for them in person.

"Mrs. Archard will be with you in a moment," it said. "Would you care for some refreshment?"

"No, thank you," Ryland said. Lyon didn't bother answering.

"As you wish."

The android retreated to the corner of the room. A minute and thirty-eight seconds later, a woman emerged from one of the room's other doors. She looked to be in her early thirties, was reasonably attractive, and had dark, forest-green hair pulled back in a simple twist. There was a slight puffiness around her eyes, hinting that she'd recently been crying.

"Thank you for coming," she said. "My name is Elise Archard, as you know."

"Deputy Liaison to the Lab, I believe?" Lyon asked, identifying the name.

"Yes, that's right, but this job isn't on behalf of the Administration or the Lab. It's an entirely personal request."

Ryland nodded.

"I understand. I'm Donovan Ryland, and this is Lyon."

"Thank you. I..." She broke off and shuddered, then started again. "I know that this is going to sound crazy, but I swear to you that it's true! I'm being haunted by the ghost of my dead husband!"

Ryland had, of course, told Lyon that they'd be investigating a haunting, but even so it was astonishing to actually hear the client come out and announce it so bluntly. Fortunately as an android it was easier to control her expressions so that she didn't rudely gape at Mrs. Archard.

"When you say 'haunted,'" Ryland asked, "how, precisely do you mean? Is it a vision, an intangible presence, an apparition you can see and hear—"

She shook her head violently, cutting the Force off before he could continue the litany.

"No, no! He was real, he was here in this room and he attacked me!"

"_Attacked_ you?" Ryland didn't have to conceal his surprise.

"Yes! He appeared, floating in the air, and he was surrounded by a...a kind of field, like electricity or energy, and whenever he gestured, the energy would lash out like a whip, crashing into everything."

Ryland glanced around the room.

"Was it in here?"

"Yes, and in other rooms as well. The first time, he chased me into the bedroom, the second time he appeared when I was in the kitchen, and most recently I couldn't escape here; he chased me into that corner."

Lyon decided to ask the obvious question, both because she was curious and because if she played the "skeptical android" it would let Ryland take the role of the open-minded member of the team, willing to let him draw the client's confidences out.

"I do not see any signs of damage. Have you already had the suite repaired?"

Mrs. Archard shot her a harsh look.

"So you think I imagined it all because the walls weren't scarred or the furniture torn up?"

"No one's saying that," Ryland took up his cue, "but if there was all that energy flying around and it _didn't_ hurt anything, then it will help us identify what we're dealing with."

Mrs. Archard looked back and forth between the two hunters.

"There was damage. Look at those plants!" She pointed, perhaps a bit dramatically, at the withered greenery. "When he struck the plants with his energy, they died at once. And look here!" She scrambled to the Net-access unit and activated the controls, but nothing happened in response to her increasingly frenzied pounding at the interface panel. "See? See? One of those bolts ripped across it and it won't work any more!"

Her voice grew more and more hysterical with every word and she finally crashed her hands against the machine, pounding at it with her fist. Ryland stepped forward at once, taking her by the shoulders and pulling her away, steering her to the sofa where she collapsed into a storm of weeping. Curious, Lyon checked the Net-access and found that in fact it was completely inert despite being connected to power and having no apparent damage. She turned to the android servant.

"Were you present during any of the attacks mentioned?"

"I was at this location during the first and third incident," it stated. "However, I did not witness the appearance of an apparition, nor any of the phenomena described, other than certain appliances ceasing to function without apparent cause."

"Did you attempt repairs?"

"Yes. The internal Photon circuitry had been disabled; the devices were unable to deploy Photon energy."

"I see."

The weeping had begun to slow; Mrs. Archard took several long, deep breaths while she blotted her tears.

"I know this may be painful for you," Ryland said, "but can you tell me about your husband and his death? This may help us understand why he had apparently returned to trouble you."

She took another deep breath.

"I don't know what it could be. Josh and I loved each other so much. We'd only been married for two years, you know. I'd waited to marry until I had time to establish myself in my career. We thought the Ragol colony would be the perfect chance for us both to begin a new life, to make our mark. Josh was a Photon engineer, you see."

"That must have been convenient, since your job is to liaison with the Lab."

She shook her head.

"I only wish. He wasn't with the government laboratory; he worked for Weinstine Co."

"I see."

"Would you like to see a picture of him?"

"Yes, please. I've seen the image from his citizen file, but a personal image always does a better job of conveying character."

Mrs. Archard rose and walked a little shakily into the bedroom. She came back with a small viewplate, the kind that would be set up on a table. A small control would adjust between the images stored in the plate's data memory.

Lyon came over and looked as Ryland scrolled through the images. Joshua Archard had been a slim, yellow-haired man about his wife's age, with a handsome face. His smile in the pictures looked easy and natural, not the forced look that was common with most posed images. Lyon suspected that he had been charming, judging by the social confidence the smile implied.

"Thank you," Ryland said, returning the viewplate. He hesitated, then pushed ahead. "Now, about his death..."

Mrs. Archard swallowed nervously.

"It was a...terrible accident."

"Oh?"

"We were shopping at the arcade in Commercial Sector 12, the free-floating one? He...we were on the glide path down to the aerocar deck a level down and he...he slipped and went over the rail."

Ryland flinched, no doubt imagining the terrifying plunge.

"It...it was a month ago, but I can still...I can still hear his scream as he fell."

She looked up at the Force suddenly, her eyes wide with shock.

"But it was an accident! It was horrible and tragic, but why would he come back and attack me? What could do that?"

Ryland shook his head.

"I don't know, Mrs. Archard. There have been many strange things since we came to Ragol. For the dead to return...it's not impossible. As for the why, well, we'll just have to figure that out."

"If you don't know—" she began, then stopped and started over. "I'd...I'd hoped you would know...some way to free me from this, and let Josh rest in peace."

Lyon decided it was time for her to speak up. Methodical, step-by-step logic always sounded better coming from an android, as if her artificial status lent weight to the argument. Silly, really, since her emotional parameters influenced her behavior as much as any human's did.

"Investigation is always the first step in any hunter's job. No matter the kind of work, we have to gather information. The problem must be defined in order for us to devise a solution that will allow us to achieve the client's—your—objective."

"I...I see."

She was a government officer; she should have known fluff-talk when she heard it, but Mrs. Archard was clearly too overwrought to think that clearly. Or at least she wanted the hunters to think so.

"Mrs. Archard," Ryland asked, "would you permit us to access the memory of your servant android?"

Her eyes widened.

"My android? Why?"

"We may be able to learn something from the way in which she observed the incidents. An android's memory is pure data; it doesn't have the pick-and-choose selectivity of human or Numan memory."

"But...it didn't see what happened."

Interesting; the matronly-looking servant was "it" to her mistress but "she" to Ryland. The former was probably correct; gender differentiation was actually a highly complex AI function involving a wide variety of data processing, emotional priorities, and decision-making algorithms based on both sociocultural archetypes and biologically-based neural process simulation. In Lyon's experience, though, no one made that distinction except another android. Organics inevitably either considered AIs to be people and so assigned them genders, like Ryland, or they thought of all AIs as objects.

"It did see the physical effects of the attack, however," Lyon pointed out, trying to convey the impression that this hard data would be necessary to convince the skeptical android without actually coming out and saying so.

"Well, if you think you must."

"Why don't we let Lyon take care of that, and I can make you a cup of tea."

"It's my kitchen, and all you have to do is program the auto-timer."

Ryland wagged a finger at her playfully.

"Tut-tut! Tea-making is an art form that should never be left to a machine simpler than a high-grade AI! I'll show you what I mean, and you can tell me more about your husband."

"All...all right. CN-163, please give this android access to your memory of the ghost incidents."

"Yes, Mrs. Archard."

The two humans rose and walked into the kitchen. Lyon approached the servant, which opened a small access port at the base of its throat. Lyon plugged a datacable into the port, then connected the other end to a slot at the back of her neck beneath her foxtail.

"I hate this," she muttered, which was the truth. Opening data access to her system always frightened her, even during routine maintenance. She was exposing her own mind to whatever was on the other side of that link-and hunters on Ragol had discovered that there definitely _were_ things that could hack even a high-grade, Photon-based AI.

In this case, though, the shoe was on the other foot. The servant's AI was pre-Photon computer technology and its security measures were laughable from Lyon's perspective. As requested by Mrs. Archard, the android had unlocked the memory files for the time indices corresponding to the hauntings, and Lyon quickly copied those, but even the locked data was as good as open to her.

Lyon's conscience pricked at her for a moment, but then she reminded herself sternly that Android CN-163 was _not_ a person, artificial or otherwise; the servant was the AI equivalent of a dog or a cow. She unlocked the memory, then did a search-and-scan for everything the android had retained since its last core dump about the late Joshua Archard. It was the work of an instant to copy those records as well, then conceal her tracks and persuade the system that she hadn't ever been accessing it.

Lyon didn't start reviewing the file content until she'd disconnected the cable.

_Well, now,_ she thought. _Isn't_ that _interesting_.


	3. Chapter 3

Lyon and Ryland watched the images on-screen. She had uploaded the android servant's memories to Ryland's portable navigation unit so that he could see them as well. It was surreal, watching Mrs. Archard screaming and cowering in fear while absolutely nothing appeared to be happening. Even more surreal was watching the plants go from lush and healthy to dead in an instant.

It was positively creepy, the RAcaseal had to admit.

"Do you know what this reminds me of?" Ryland asked, tapping the screen.

"No."

"The effect of a Photon life-draining effect."

Lyon considered that. Ironically, this was one of the examples Ryland had cited of why "Photon" and "magic" were the same thing. Certain Photon weapons could drain Photon energy from a target, then change that energy to healing just as a monomate did and restore the wielder. Likewise, certain very rare weapons and armor would drain the _user's_ life to power certain attacks.

"You have a point."

"And here's another point for you. A ghost wouldn't have a physical body, right?"

"Right."

"It's pure energy—pure _Photon_ energy, I'd say."

"You said something about there being a point in this?"

"That android was a pre-Photon model, not only her AI but the body she was in," Ryland ignored Lyon's quip. "She didn't have a single Photon-based sensing device—so she couldn't see the ghost _or_ its attacks. If you'd been there, I'd wager it would be different."

"Maybe so," Lyon agreed. "Of course, that assumes there was ever anything to begin with. Doctoring that android's memory would have been child's play."

"_Was_ it doctored?"

Lyon shrugged.

"Who can say? That level of technology is so basic, it's easy to remove all but the faintest traces of tampering."

Ryland sighed.

"You're so prosaic, Lyon. Why is it that you can't simply believe what our client is telling us—other than the fact that about half the time our clients _do_ lie to us and the other half they keep back some key information because they're embarrassed or because they consider it to be on a 'need-to-know' basis."

"Other than that? Because she's already lied once."

Ryland stopped in his tracks, just before reaching the elevator.

"How do you know that?"

"As long as I was connected to her android, I took a look around its memory. That, by the way, is how I know that it would be easy to hack or plant false data."

The Force was looking at her with something like horror.

"Lyon, how could you _do_ that?"

She shrugged again. It was a very effective non-verbal communication, she'd found.

"I was curious."

"You all but raped her mind!"

Lyon sighed.

"Be logical, Ryland."

"Logical? I'm talking about basic morality, not about logic!"

"Morality is not alien to logic; it serves as a premise in reaching conclusions. It is your other premises that are flawed." She stepped onto the elevator. Why were they having this argument _now_? "Firstly, that android is not a _she_, it is an _it_. Only its external appearance resembles a human female; it has neither female biology nor gender-based thought patterns. Secondly, the word 'rape' is inappropriate because it implies that the android has the emotional capacity to feel violated and abused, or the sensation capacity to suffer, which it does not. It is only a machine."

"_You're_ 'only a machine.' I'd have thought you'd have more sympathy."

"It is _because_ I am an android that I can perceive the precise difference between AIs that are and AIs that are not 'people' rather than objects."

She laid a hand on his shoulder, a gesture meant to imply bonding, a connection of minds and interests.

"Ryland, one of the things that I like about having you as a partner is that you do treat we AIs as people, that you respect my existence as an individual. Many people don't, being unable to see past the creation process to the end result. This is especially rare in Forces, probably because your training enters into areas no android can reach. However, now and again you go too far in the opposite direction, anthropomorphizing things that are not human."

He looked up at her for a long minute, his green eyes meeting her blue ones.

"All right," he said. "My gut doesn't like it, but my head is telling me that you understand the fine points better than I ever could, and my heart trusts you."

Lyon had always wondered why humans metaphorically assigned different cognitive functions to organs that had nothing to do with thinking. She filed the observation away and flagged it so she could tweak Ryland later if he became annoying on some appropriate point.

The elevator took them smoothly to the aerocar deck.

"So what was the lie you discovered?"

"The marriage was not so hearts-and-flowers as she'd have us believe. The android's memory contained a number of arguments between Mr. and Mrs. Archard. There was no violence, but emotionally it was...not pretty. I can transmit the data if you wish."

"Not just now."

"Coward."

"Yep," he admitted frankly.

"Among her specific accusations was infidelity. This appears to be supported, as Mr. Archard on more than one occasions made datalink calls to his mistress."

"The android has all this in memory?"

"It did. Both of the Archards seemed shockingly lax about the fact that what was essentially an active recording device was sitting in their apartment. They should have ordered it into privacy mode. Of course, every month that model performs a core dump since memory space isn't infinite, but even so, it's very poor practice for a scientist and a political official."

"Could the memory data be faked?"

"Definitely. The problem would be in constructing such a large number of synthetic datafiles. It would take time and trouble, and a careful analysis could probably detect signs of tampering, not from the android but from flaws in the memory data itself."

"I see." Ryland tapped his fingertips together. "It could be shock and grief rather than lying, you know."

Lyon considered that.

"You mean that Mrs. Archard might be deluding herself that her marriage was in better shape than it really was because she can't cope with the truth?"

"Or because she loved him, regardless of whether or not he deserved it. If they were having problems, though, it would go a long way towards explaining the ghost. The restless dead don't usually spring from a calm, contented life. On the other hand, if there _has_ been data tampering, it suggests there might be someone out to harm Mrs. Archard, perhaps by driving her mad."

Ryland sighed bitterly.

"You wanted it to be a real haunting." Lyon knew her partner too well to miss that.

"Yes, I did. I know it sounds childish, but I don't want this case to be a plot to drive her mad."

"Ryland, why would anyone capable of elaborate data forgery and of rigging the ghost effects _go_ to all that trouble? Even given that someone has that motive—itself pure speculation—wouldn't it be simpler to murder Mrs. Archard?"

She'd thought that would cheer him up, the argument against the faked-haunting theory, but it didn't. His response told her why.

"I'd thought of that, but there could be reasons."

"Such as?"

"The word of an insane person is inherently untrustworthy. Mrs. Archard is in a sensitive position. Perhaps she's filed reports that threaten someone's plot. Killing her wouldn't accomplish anything; she'd have to be discredited."

Lyon considered that. Ryland had a point. If Mrs. Archard had accused someone of wrongdoing, then she died, it would lend credence to her accusations. Far better to be able to dismiss her claims as the ravings of a paranoiac.

When one considered the number of plots and intrigues going on between the Administration, the military, and the Lab, to say nothing of personal agendas and the activities of shady, even criminal groups, the speculation began to seem plausible, even probable.

"Do you want me to initiate a data analysis?" she asked.

Ryland stopped, laying his hand on their aerocar door.

"I think there might be an easier way. You said that Archard made PDL calls to his mistress in front of the android?"

"Yes."

"Well, why don't you go talk to her directly?"

"You mean, verify the data by verifying the existence of the mistress?"

Ryland nodded.

"Exactly."

"She could be an impostor. An elaborate charade involving hours of forged data would take that step."

"It's considerably harder to fake human emotion rather than data. A human—particularly someone who isn't a professional actor—will make mistakes." He grinned suddenly and added, "We organics are essentially analog technology, you know. Copies and imitations don't have the high fidelity we want to achieve. You'll figure it out."

"You keep saying 'you' instead of 'we.' Why?"

"I'm going to go back to Mrs. Archard's residence. Did you notice the time index of the attacks? There's a pattern."

She hadn't noticed. A quick check of the data revealed it at once, though.

"The attacks were on the 16th, the 24th, and the 28th. Eight days, then four. Do you anticipate another one today?"

"I do. I want to stay here and protect our client, Lyon, because from what I can tell by her actions on these records, the attacks aren't just getting closer together, they're getting worse."


	4. Chapter 4

_What did you say to the mistress of a dead man?_ Lyon thought on the way over. Particularly if you weren't even sure she _was_ his mistress?

Finding the woman had been easy. The PDL call Archard had placed to her in the servant's presence gave Lyon her name and a partial image. Filling in the gaps with publicly available information was simple enough. Lyon now knew that Joshua Archard had been carrying on with one Melissa Vair, twenty-three years old, a junior-grade Photon engineer with Weinstine Co. In short, it was an office (or in this case, laboratory) romance. This was entirely logical. She shared a field with him, likely meaning a bond of common interests he lacked with his wife. She was a decade younger than his wife and in a lesser position, while Mrs. Archard possessed authority of her own. It fitted well with the psychology of infidelity.

Cheating spouses made Lyon happy to be an android. The hit-or-miss nature of social and biological imperatives that made up a human's core "programming" made for irrational behavior as often as not. An ordered decision-making hierarchy was a distinct comfort. Barring a hardware issue causing error, Lyon's decisions might not be right, but they would be correctly adapted to best suit her personal values, goals, and emotions based upon the available information.

By the time she walked up to Miss Vair's residence door, Lyon had still not formed a strategy. She would simply have to gather information and play things by ear.

"Yes?" a voice answered her chime.

"Melissa Vair?"

"I am. Who are you?"

"I am Type L/Y-906, individual designation Lyon. I am a hunter from the Guild."

"What does the Hunter's Guild want with me?"

The direct approach seemed to be indicated.

"Joshua Archard."

The door swished open to reveal an extremely angry young woman with electric blue hair and red-rimmed eyes. She wore a very ornate red dress that was badly wrinkled, as if she'd been laying around in it. The makeup on her cheeks, which had been styled in elaborate, ritualized patterns, was badly smeared by the tracks of tears.

"That bitch sent you, didn't she?" Miss Vair snapped. "It's not enough for her that he's dead? Now she's going to come after me as well?"

"Do you wish to hold this discussion out in the hall where anyone could overhear us?"

"I know that _you_ don't. You and your client's priceless reputation!" She glanced up and down the hall. "You might as well come in. If you're going to kill me, do it quickly. I have nothing to live for anyway."

Dramatic and theatrical, Lyon decided, but it rang true. Someone performing from a script didn't sound so disjointed. It didn't sound as if Miss Vair had any message to get across. Lyon followed her into the residence.

Unlike their client, Melissa Vair lived simply, in an ordinary middle-class residence unit not far different from that Ryland or Lyon had: living area, bedroom, kitchen/dining alcove, and bathroom. The furnishings were spartan, without any personal touches at all except for the large image plate over the sofa. Since the residence's external windows were in the bedroom and kitchen, the image plate could be set to provide a wide variety of different views from Coral or a collection of still and animated art. This one had a personal picture uploaded onto it: Miss Vair and the dead Archard laughing together, his arm around her shoulders.

The mistress, it seemed, was grieving even more than the widow.

Lyon stared pointedly at the image to announce to the woman that she'd taken note of it.

"That is good. It helps me save time by letting me skip several of my initial questions."

"Questions? I don't understand. Didn't Mrs. Archard send you?"

"Mrs. Archard is my client." Lyon saw no reason to lie. "However, she did not send me to you."

"I should have guessed. A killer wouldn't come knocking at the door."

"That is the second reference you have made to being killed." Perhaps there was a message after all. "The Hunter's Guild does not contract for assassinations." Though there were hunters who _would_ take that kind of work privately, off the Guild's books...

Miss Vair gave a little laugh that had no humor in it.

"Retrieve stolen data, clear monsters from a section of Ragol, kill a loose end. I suppose it would sound silly. And she likes doing things with her own hands. Have to give her credit for that! It's not every day you see a bureaucrat who goes out and does her own work. Government giving us our taxes' worth!"

"You are suggesting that Mrs. Archard murdered her husband?"

"Of course I am! He was going to leave her, that cold fish, and marry me! She couldn't have that—it would hurt her precious career to have a shaky home life! Better a grieving widow than an abandoned divorcee, and all it took was one simple push."

"Do you possess evidence of this?"

Miss Vair gave her a pitying look.

"Evidence? Is that what you think?"

"It would be a logical reason to be afraid for your life." With every passing moment, though, Lyon was becoming more and more convinced that logic played no role in Miss Vair's actions. This was unusual in a scientist, so perhaps it was the shock of her lover's death that had driven her into this state.

"Oh, I'm not afraid, not _really_. What am I, after all? Nothing but a loose end, a little leftover bit to remind her that she was a failure as a wife." She paused, then shot Lyon a suspicious glance. "What _are_ you doing here, anyway? You mentioned questions. Questions about what?"

"Questions about your relationship with Joshua Archard, most of which you have already answered."

~X X X~

"What are you doing?" Mrs. Archard asked Ryland curiously. The nervousness in her manner wasn't just from her fears over the hauntings (real or faked, Ryland was sticking with the word). The Force had to admit that his behavior wasn't likely to reassure anyone as to his own sanity.

"The ghost always appears at the same time of day, and he appears to be taking less and less time between attacks. There may very well be an appearance today in"—he checked the time on his PDL—"seventeen minutes."

Mrs. Archard turned pale.

"Seventeen minutes from now? But that's...that's when Josh fell!"

"I'm not surprised. The traumatic events of a person's death are invariably tied up with their appearance in a haunting." _And if the haunting is faked, the ones running the game would know that._

This was starting to depress him. He'd taken the job because it sounded interesting and different from the run-of-the-mill quests that came through the Hunter's Guild. If it proved to be yet another political conspiracy between people who seemed to like intrigue just for the fun of it, he was going to be furious, and likely depressed besides. Lyon would probably say he sounded like a child who'd had a new toy snatched away, and there was some justice to it.

"What I'm doing," he explained, "is sketching out a magic circle."

"Using salt from the kitchen?"

"It's traditional, and symbolic. The living dead aren't supposed to be able to cross an unbroken line of salt, though it's probably just superstition. The symbolism is what's important."

She looked at him strangely.

"You talk as if you understand these things."

"I _am_ a Force, after all. While my profession relates to the use of modern Photon-based techniques, it's merely the latest step in the history of disciplines studying the supernatural and/or psychic phenomena."

"But...you called it a 'magic' circle?"

"Surely you've seen the patterns that appear for large-scale use of Photon energy, like a Mag's Photon Blast, a long-range communications beam, or ship-to-ship artillery."

"Well, the communications beam, at least."

"It's really the same principle, the importance of symbolism in the use of Photon energy. Your ghost is pure Photon, which is why your old-model servant android can't perceive it, only the effects it has in the physical world."

"I see." This time, it sounded like she really did understand, as opposed to politely humoring him. Maybe it was because he'd started bringing in Photon technology, which people thought they understood.

No, that wasn't fair. People _did_ understand Photon technology, at least the trained scientists and engineers who actually built and designed devices using it. _Pioneer 2_ was proof of that—a starfaring city! If anything, it was the ancient wizards and occultists who had an imperfect understanding. Modern society had applied the _methods_ of mundane science to help them understand things that surpassed even the most exotic legends.

On the other hand, there were clearly gaps in modern knowledge as well, as Mrs. Archard's experiences testified...he hoped.

"That should do it," he said with satisfaction. He looked over his work, comparing it to the image on his nav-unit screen. Lyon would have been handy here; her android's eye could readily compare and discern any differences, while his human ability to do so was decidedly imperfect. Still, everything looked all right.

"Now, Mrs. Archard, if you would come here and stand in the center of the circle, being careful not to disturb anything."

She gingerly stepped over the patterns of salt. Ryland did the same, being careful to hold up the hem of his robe so it didn't sweep the carpet. He then used his Deband technique, surrounding the two of them in shimmering blue fields. The technique protected against physical damage, even that caused by Photon weapons, though he didn't know if it would have any effect on the attacks Mrs. Archard had described. It couldn't hurt to try, though. Finally, he began the incantation designed to activate the magic circle. He wasn't sure about this one, as it wasn't based on the reliable principles of technique use he'd been taught, but when he finished it he felt the familiar surge of power leaving him and the circle lit up with coruscating white, blue, and indigo lights. Mrs. Archard let out a little gasp.

"Will...will this work?"

"Well, in about a minute and forty-seven seconds we'll find out."


	5. Chapter 5

Donovan Ryland watched the time scroll past with anticipation knotting his stomach. Would the ghost appear or wouldn't it? If so, would his preparations be effective? Could he affect it in any way? Was the opposition truly a dead man's spirit or just a clever hoax?

Then, the last moments scrolled off on his chronometer and it was _there_.

He looked pale and translucent, as if his entire body had been formed from bluish-white light instead of flesh and blood, and he hovered a couple of feet in the air, his body canted forward as if flying. His face was twisted, like he was wrestling with some terrible emotion.

_Elise!_

The apparition hadn't spoken, not really. The word seemed to reverberate inside Ryland's head. Mrs. Archard screamed and clapped her hands to her ears.

"No, no!" she protested. "Why is this _happening_?"

"Don't move, Mrs. Archard," Ryland ordered as she began to sway. "Stay inside the circle."

The apparition drifted towards them as if floating on currents the two humans could neither see nor feel. It loomed over them, but when it reached the boundary it suddenly stopped, unable to go any further. The image's face worked in baffled frustration.

_Elise!_

Ryland's skin prickled; he could feel pressure being applied against the circle's protection and Archard's posture changed. The Force was reminded of nothing so much as a fish that had reached the boundary of an aquarium and instead of doubling back pushed itself harder and harder against the glass so that its body was pressed right up against it.

Next to him Mrs. Archard was trembling; he steadied her by grabbing her shoulders.

_Elise!_ Rage echoed through the "voice" this time, an almost tangible surge of hatred, and violet lightnings began to play over the apparition's body. Suddenly it gave a wordless "scream" that echoed in Ryland's mind, and bolts of pure Photon slashed through the room. The crackling energy played across furniture and carpet without effect, passing harmlessly when it looked as if it should be burned or carved or blown to bits. The only casualty at all was when a bolt strafed across one of the light-bars inset in the ceiling, which went dark at once.

For Ryland the experience was quite different. While the energy that touched the inanimate objects had no apparent effect, those that struck the boundaries of the circle had a very dramatic one. Soundless bursts of varicolored light exploded outward outward at each contact, and pain drilled into the Force's skull at the clash of his energies against the apparition.

Ryland grinned despite the pain as one fact came shining through to him: this was not a hoax. These effects would require the most cutting-edge Photon technology to duplicate, an outlay of resources far, far beyond any possible benefit to be had from the effects. No single individual would have those kind of resources, and no political or corporate plotters would commit the sheer work required to make this happen—that would be lunacy rather than conspiracy.

Whatever this apparition was, ghost or spirit or some creature of twisted Photon, it was not a technological hoax. It was real.

_Elise!_

"What do you _want_ from me?" Mrs. Archard screamed.

Ryland grunted in pain as his barrier came under attack again.

_Elise!_

There was a soundless explosion, a brilliant flash of light, and the barrier shattered under the relentless pressure of the spirit's attack. Ryland reeled away, staggering from the agony that stabbed at his brain. The apparition loomed menacingly over Mrs. Archard, violet bolts striking around the cowering woman.

Despite the pain, the Force called on a more direct method of exorcism. His head throbbed as if hot knives were being driven into his eyes as he summoned the power, but he used the Grants technique. Bright light shimmered around Archard, then snapped into a devastating attack of Light-aspected Photon. The apparition twisted and flexed with the assault, verifying that the technique had had at least some effect, and for the first time the spirit turned away from Mrs. Archard to face Ryland directly.

Then, a bolt of violet Photon speared into his midsection, and Ryland knew no more.

~X X X~

"Happy Halloween," Lyon said.

Ryland turned his head groggily. A pumpkin leered at him from his bedside table, a plastic vase containing flowers.

"Halloween?" he murmured, his voice thick and dull.

"You've been unconscious for nine hours!" the android exclaimed.

"She's been sitting here for the last seven of them," remarked a pink-and-white-clad nurse cheerfully. "It's kind of creepy, seeing her just sit there like a statue."

"Some of us don't feel the need to fidget," Lyon remarked.

Ryland looked from one to the other.

"What happened? How did I get here?"

The nurse checked the diagnostic screen, then assisted Ryland to adjust his bed to support him in a sitting position.

"Mrs. Archard called the Medical Center," Lyon explained. "Apparently you were attacked by the ghost."

"Ghost!" yelped the nurse. "What ghost? You're just trying to scare me because it's Halloween, aren't you?"

Lyon gave her the "android stare." It worked a lot better on the nurse than it did on her partner; she mumbled something about checking on other patients and scuttled out of the room.

"Attacked...yes, _that_ part I remember."

"It's true, then?"

"A surprised android. That's not common," Ryland mused.

"Less delirium, more talk. What happened? Mrs. Archard was having hysterics and I could barely get anything sensible out of her."

"Basically, our client was telling us the truth about the ghost, at least."

"That's a refreshing change. Give me the details."

Ryland explained what had happened leading up to the point he'd lost consciousness.

"I'm just glad it didn't kill me."

"It nearly did. According to the doctor, you were suffering from near-terminal Photon drain, like someone had worked you over with a Drain weapon until death. There weren't any injuries at all, just the energy drain."

"Well, that tracks with what we suspected from the first."

Ryland threw back the bedcovers, then blushed as he realized that he was wearing only a skimpy hospital shift.

"Where are my clothes?" he asked, yanking the sheet back up.

"Hanging up in the closet. Are you planning on going somewhere?"

"Of course. We've got a ghost to lay to rest. Today's Halloween and I'm worried about what that might mean."

Lyon nodded.

"All right."

She went over to the closet and fetched down Ryland's robes and underthings.

"What, no protests of 'Ryland, what are you doing? You could have been killed!' or 'Ryland, you can't just walk out of the Medical Center! You have to get well!' I feel slighted."

Lyon tipped her head to one side in an attitude designed to suggest curiosity.

"Are you mistaking me for an idiot?" she asked conversationally. "As hunters, our job is to fight dangerous monsters and brutal criminals. We put our lives at risk with every Guild Quest we accept. I presume that having had a narrow escape, you'll take precautions to better combat this enemy. As for the objection you expect me to raise to your heroic struggle to get back to work when you should be under medical care, the doctor said that if you woke up, you'd be fully recovered. I was feeling quite anxious, but once you came to, that stopped since there was no longer a reason for worry."

"Seriously?" Ryland asked, all bantering dropped from his voice. "As soon as you had hard data saying I was well, your anxiety stopped, without any lingering residue?"

"That's correct."

"How interesting. Human emotions aren't as precise."

"It's because I don't have a subconscious mind. Even when my AI is performing multi-layered analyses, I'm aware of all of them. Doctor Montague is working on an advanced emotional program to simulate a subconscious via a 'black box' analytical level, but it's still experimental. I'm not sure I'd like that, honestly. It would be scary to have an analysis level running in my own mind with only the conclusions available to me. I'm surprised it doesn't creep you organics out!"

"I'm going to try really hard not to think about that, and therefore I'm going to change the subject. How did things go with Melissa Vair?"

"Quite well, now that I can put things in the perspective of your experiences. She definitely cared for Archard, and she is ferociously angry at his wife, whom she blames for everything."

"Turn around, will you? I'd like to get dressed."

Lyon turned. She was, after all, technically female, and it did please her that her partner considered her a woman; people didn't get embarrassed to be naked in front of an object.

"Funny," Ryland commented, "how a woman who gleefully sleeps with someone else's husband would be so self-righteous."

"You disapprove?"

"Infidelity annoys me. If a relationship is over, end it. Break up—or in the case of a marriage, there are separation, annulment, or divorce. Adulterers are liars and cowards."

"Mrs. Archard lied, too, about the state of her marriage. In fact, Miss Vair was the only person who came right out and declared her feelings openly."

"Hooray for her." He paused for a long moment, as if thinking things over. "When you say, 'blames for everything,' do you include Archard's death?"

"Absolutely."

"I wonder. We should check into that. We have an apparent ghost that appears at the hour of its death to haunt, even attack his wife. Maybe Melissa Vair isn't the only one who blames Mrs. Archard for the killing."


	6. Chapter 6

"You're nervous," Lyon told her partner as they waited for Inspector Laleham. "Is it over the outcome of this case? We might not get paid if we accuse our client of murder."

"That's not it...not quite it, at least."

"Oh?"

"It's the case, but..." He trailed off, then began again. "Today's Halloween, and if the ghost keeps to schedule it will appear again."

"That does put some pressure on us—well, on you, really—to find a solution."

"Worse."

"Ryland, will you please stop speaking in ominous hints and just come out and say what you mean?"

"Your language data can't translate 'ominous hint'?" he said gamely, but the grin was halfhearted at best. "Sorry. I'm worried because today, the ghost will probably be stronger than it was yesterday."

"Probably?"

"The area of the living world versus the spirit world is not often detailed in the latest Photon-engineering experimental journals," he said wryly, "so I'm forced to rely on traditional occult sources that aren't so well documented in terms of research methods."

"So you don't know if you have reliable information or superstitious claptrap until you test it for yourself?"

"Precisely. It's like you were saying yesterday; Halloween is supposed to be the day where the barriers between the living and the dead are thinnest, so Archard should be able to come more fully into the world. That certainly means more power and probably more of his mind as well so that he'll be smarter, more cunning."

"His current version," Lyon observed, "left you comatose in the Medical Center, on the edge of death."

"I am," Ryland noted, "all too aware of that fact."

"No wonder you're nervous."

"That's not all, either."

"Isn't one problem enough?"

Ryland polished his glasses on his sleeve.

"I'm worried about the hungry ghosts."

Lyon scanned her database but drew a blank.

"What are—"

"Unfulfilled souls," he cut her off before she had time to finish the question, showing that he was even more nervous than she'd realized. "Those who died prematurely, with some great task unfulfilled or driving passion unrealized. They are condemned to return to the living world to slake their unceasing hunger."

"Isn't that what a normal ghost like Archard—if you can talk about ghosts being normal—is? An unfulfilled spirit seeking resolution of its life?"

Ryland shook his head.

"No, the difference is that a 'normal' ghost isn't seeking to resolve its _life_, but its _death_. A phantasm reenacting its last moments. A victim accusing its murderer. With the hungry ghosts, their death is an unrelated event, and that's why they're supposed to be dangerous. There's a disconnect between the emotion driving it back to the living world and the transition point, the manner of its death which serves as the bridge for crossing over."

"You're losing me, Ryland."

"Okay, let me put in this way. In most ghost stories, you can lay a ghost to rest by resolving the conflict it felt at death which brought it back. The hungry ghosts don't _know_ why they came back. They feel hunger for something but not what it is they want or need. They aren't even really spirits in the sense of a definable person, just the incarnation of need, of craving."

"What do they crave?"

"Human life, mostly. That's where many of our Halloween traditions come from, as degraded versions of rituals to drive off the hungry ghosts. Fortunately, they're only supposed to linger around areas of great tragedy such as battlefields or horrific natural disasters, because their deaths have to be suitably dramatic and powerful to create a bridge to our world, yet sufficiently impersonal not to truly involve the soul."

This time Lyon made the connection.

"There were thirty thousand colonists from _Pioneer 1_, wiped out in a single instant."

Ryland nodded.

"And if there are hungry ghosts present, they may be drawn to Archard's presence like moths to a flame."

Now Lyon was scared, too. It was a good thing that a soldier approached them and said that the Inspector was ready to see them. Not having a subconscious, the android was best able to avoid anxiety by giving her mind something else to think about.

~X X X~

"Joshua Archard," Laleham murmured. "Yeah, that rings a bell. About a month ago, accidental death." The military police inspector was a big man with a square, strong-jawed face. He gave the impression of solidity and strength, a rock for victims to rest their hopes on. By reputation _Pioneer 2_'s chief homicide investigator was an honest policeman in a frustrating job. Too often the police were shoved aside by the military chain of command or other powerful interests.

"Accidental?" Ryland asked.

"Yeah, he took the plunge, fell over a guard rail. This city may function in multiple directions but gravity only points one way. Those open glide-walks ought to be enclosed for safety. Why do you ask?" Laleham dropped the question in sharply after the offhand observations. A suspicious man—though with his job, who wouldn't be?

"We're looking into a matter for his widow, and some questions are starting to come up. You know how it is, Inspector. A person dies, and then events afterward start hinting at the idea that someone helped him on his way." Ryland did not mention the victim returning from the dead, which was probably smart of him.

"Yeah, I do know that routine, all too well. Honestly, though, the usual crap was conspicuous by its absence in this case. I didn't have the Administration or the Lab leaning on me to close the case fast, I didn't have Weinstine Co.'s security people—you know the dead man worked for them?—pushing to take over the case, none of that. I had no official pressure, meaning that either it's so hot-button no one's willing to risk stepping forward or there's nothing there to find."

"We actually weren't thinking in terms of political influence," Lyon said.

"Well, that makes you two the only ones on this ship who aren't. Can't throw a rock without hitting a conspiracy these days."

"I know what you mean," Ryland said. "We're so awash in gray eminences and behind-the-scenes power players that I sometimes wonder if there's anyone left over to plot _against_."

"That's why they have androids," joked Lyon. "Seriously, though, we're investigating this from the angle of a personal crime."

"Personal, eh? You must have been talking to Melissa Vair."

"We did, or rather Lyon did."

"She was most insistent."

"She was to me, too," agreed Laleham. "Girl's got a lot of pent-up frustration. Trouble is, she's wrong. I've got nine witnesses _and_ I've got video from the arcade's security eyes. Take a look."

Laleham turned to his computer, entered his passcode and opened up the case file. A window opened on his screen, and the hunters were treated to a view of a glide-ramp, the lights of the shopping arcade in the background. Joshua and Elise Archard faced each other, faces angry, obviously arguing. Finally, when they'd descended about one-third of the way down the glide, Josh turned and began stalking away. He took about four steps and his heel skidded, sending him staggering forward. He fell diagonally downward against the railing, so that it caught him across the hips instead of the upper abdomen like it would have on his own level, and over he went.

"You see? She didn't push him, didn't trip him, didn't do anything but scream in shock when he fell. Basically, he stormed off in a huff, slipped and fell. Pure bad luck, nothing more. Almost the textbook definition of a fatal accident."

"Of course, that doesn't stop the human mind from wanting to blame someone," observed Ryland.

"Of course."

It was a particularly organic psychological flaw, Lyon had noted. In the case of unfortunate events, there was the need to hold someone responsible, as if to maintain the illusion that everything in life had a specific human cause and therefore that life would be perfect if everyone just did their jobs. The fallacy was obvious, and yet the psychological reaction was inescapable.

"Did you verify that these images were not tampered with?" she asked.

"Of course. We did that; checked the body; examined the scene; cross-checked the witnesses and their backgrounds; determined that the differences in the witness accounts were just that, the natural differences that happen when multiple people view the same event; we don't smile and nod at cases of sudden death. Particularly when no one is throwing up official roadblocks."

Laleham closed out the case file on his computer.

"Now," he said, "I've been pretty generous with official data thus far, so how about a little cooperation in the other direction. What's going on that makes you wonder if Archard's death is really an accident?"

Lyon decided to let her partner field that one.

"It's like we were just saying—the human need for blame."

Laleham kept his eyes on the Force, waiting for him to back that up with specific information.

"We're working for Mrs. Archard. She's got some guilt issues, I'd say, and we both know what Miss Vair thinks about the whole situation."

Laleham nodded.

"You Forces can get pretty excitable. 'Course, you've got to be the kind that runs on emotion to hop into bed with someone else's husband," the Inspector added, but Ryland wasn't looking at him. Instead, he's turned to Lyon with a strange, almost twisted look on his face.

"You didn't tell me," he said, "that Melissa Vair was a Force."


	7. Chapter 7

"But how is an android supposed to protect me against a ghost?" Mrs. Archard protested. "CN-163 couldn't even see Josh!"

It was a reasonable question, so Lyon answered it.

"Your servant is a pre-Photon android, while I am the latest model. Ryland assures me that this will make all the difference. Given his symptoms as recorded at the Medical Center, I suspect his assessment of the case is correct."

"But...why isn't _he_ here?"

"Ryland is dealing with the root problem. My job is to keep you safe from your husband's spirit, while he lays it to rest."

Mrs. Archard looked positively dubious. Lyon didn't really blame her. _She_ felt positively dubious. She'd fought monsters before, ones native to Ragol and ones warped and twisted by out-of-control biotechnology. She'd fought against robots and against humans and Newmen.

She'd never fought the dead.

_Remember, Lyon,_ Ryland had told her, _it's all about Photon energy, disrupting_ its _energy with what you have. Just because it doesn't have a body to destroy doesn't mean it can't be fought._

Which was easy for the guy who'd ended up nearly dead in the Medical Center to say.

Lyon sighed heavily and took out her favorite weapon. While as a Ranger her primary combat programming suite was suited for ranged combat, her own preferences ran in a different direction. She supposed it was a good thing; in the close confines of Mrs. Archard's residence there was little chance she'd be able to engage in any kind of stand-off gunfight.

They could, of course, have moved to some more favorable ground, because the spirit was not likely to be tied to the residence and would appear wherever Mrs. Archard happened to be. The truth was, though, the suite was as good a place as any; it afforded privacy and innocent bystanders would not become involved.

Lyon's weapon looked a little like a Force's wand, but when she activated the Photon driver what appeared at the ends were not the wedges of a wand but slim three-foot blades of pale blue Photon, just like the blade of a saber. She spun the Twin Brand once in her hands, making sure it seemed to be in proper working order. She was as ready as she was going to get.

The last seconds ticked off on her internal clock. The ghost's appearance was precise to the second.

_Elise!_

Forcing down her anxiety, Lyon stepped between the apparition and her client. It was just as Mrs. Archard and Ryland had described it, a translucent likeness of Joshua Archard surrounded by snapping, crackling energy. Violet bolts snapped away from it, seemingly not directed at anything but releasing like discharges of static electricity.

_Elise!_

"You may not harm her," Lyon stated. The apparition apparently heard her, or could at least understand something of her intent, because it raised a hand towards her and sent out a bolt of pure Photon that definitely _was_ directed. It crashed into her chestplate and sparks flew; Lyon glanced down to see that the orange was now marked by glowing green sigils. When Ryland had marked her with the protective spell he hadn't left visible traces, but now the patterns were shining with their own radiance.

The Force had spent the entire time from when they'd left Laleham's office to thirty minutes before the apparition's expected appearance researching his collection of occult data (thankfully in electronic rather than manuscript form), and at least some of it had paid off. Lyon just hoped the effect would last long enough for her to accomplish her job.

The spirit seemed momentarily taken aback by Lyon's resistance, so she took the opportunity to strike. She swept the Twin Brand up, striking with the lower blade in an uppercut, then bringing the second saber back in a downward cut. She could feel the jolt run up her arms as the Photon blades made contact with the apparition, energy meeting energy, but couldn't be sure if she was actually having any effect on the spirit. Lyon meant to continue the attack with a further combination of strikes, but before she could make any further moves, the apparition reacted. Crackling surges of violet energy lashed from the field surrounding it to curl and coil around the Photon blades and the central shaft of her Twin Brand. There was a sudden surge, and then the sabers winked out.

Hopefully, the draining effect had only exhausted the Photon pack and not fried the entire driver. Either way, though, the flaw in the plan was remarkably apparent.

"I _really_ hate Halloween," Lyon decided.

~X X X~

Melissa Vair twitched and thrashed on her sofa as pain wracked her limbs. It was hard, hard work she was doing, even if it was the work of her will, not her body. Her nails dug into her palm, more than one piercing the skin, so tightly was her right fist clenched.

But it was worth it.

It was Halloween today, and the pain, the effort was so much worse than it had previously been. That was all to the good, though. Josh would be so much stronger now, with more spiritual power to command, and he would be able to finish his revenge—_their_ revenge—on his murderer, his bitch of a wife who wasn't satisfied with ruining his happiness but had to destroy him as well.

"So that's how you did it."

It took an effort for her to raise her head, still more to pay attention enough to take in the sight of the red-haired male Force who faced her.

"What's in your hand?" he asked conversationally. "A lock of hair in some lover's token? That's the problem with those old traditions. I had no idea which really work and which are pure, silly superstition. So I had to watch you at it to figure out how to undo it. It's really too bad you can't publish your findings; they'd go a long way towards opening up a new direction in Photon research. But of course, that's a bit of a hobbyhorse of mine."

"How did you get in here?" she forced out through trembling lips.

"I _am_ a hunter," the Force said almost apologetically. "I'm not so good at locks and disarming security as my partner is, but breaking and entering a standard residence unit isn't a serious challenge."

She struggled to rise as he approached her, and managed to get as far as to sit up, but no more before he was upon her. He seized her hand and forced her fingers open with strength that didn't have the overpowering force of an android but was more than enough to overcome the slim researcher. A small locket fell to the floor, the clasp popping open when it struck, spilling out a lock of hair.

The intruder waved his hand at the trinket, conjuring up fire with the Foie technique. The hair was instantly burned to ash, and in a sudden snap the pain and weakness were gone. Though drained by her efforts, Vair could act again.

For all the good it would do her.

"_Damn_ you!" she screamed, flinging herself at the man. He fended her off with relative ease, thrusting her away from him so that she fell back to the couch.

He looked down at her, not angrily, but with a gentle pity in his eyes. The expression hurt worse than if he'd cursed and raged at her.

~X X X~

Lyon staggered as bolt after bolt struck her. The protections offered by Ryland's spell had lasted this long, but they were weakening. Though her Photon energy wasn't being instantly drained from her, each bolt was not having at least _some_ effect, like a shot from a Drain weapon. Mrs. Archard cowered behind her, but how long she'd be able to hide was another question.

_Any time now would be good, Ryland._

Then, as if he'd somehow been able to hear her thoughts and act on them, the apparition was gone.

Behind Lyon, Mrs. Archard gave a sudden gasp.

"I...is he gone?"

"I believe so. Ryland was going to take steps to exorcize the ghost."

Yet if that was the case, why did tiny crackles of violet light seem to strike sparks from the air? The ghost was gone, but somehow the atmosphere of its presence remained.

~X X X~

"You need help," Ryland decided. "I'm honestly not sure if you'll be able to get it. Murder by occultism isn't exactly easy to prove, especially if it's only attempted murder. The theoretical arguments alone could take months, and the scientific staff have a few more pressing issues on hand these days."

"You and that android!" Vair spat. "Stinking mercenaries, working for _her_."

"Well, yes, we are, but I really don't think you have much cause for pointing fingers. Murder tends to steal the moral high ground out from under a person."

"Who are you to say that? You're working _for_ a murderer, and it obviously doesn't bother you."

"She's not a murderer, Miss Vair."

"She pushed Josh over that guard rail!" she shouted. "He was going to leave her for me, and her pride couldn't stand it—or the scandal would have hurt her standing in her precious job—so she killed him and covered it up with her political influence!"

Ryland shook his head.

"Actually, no, she didn't."

"And you _believe_ her?" Vair said scornfully.

"Of course not. Clients so rarely tell the complete truth I never believe everything they tell me. I do believe the police evidence, however, and then there's the best eyewitness of all."

"Who?"

Ryland smiled.

"Joshua Archard, of course. I know from personal experience just how dangerous his spirit could be. Yet he appeared over and over to his wife and while he scared her, he didn't harm her. That's what led me to you. If Archard had been apologetic I'd have considered it a natural haunting, but he was violent and angry, and that was clearly focused against his wife. When Lyon told me you were a human Force it all fell into place. You've clearly spent too much time reading the same occult literature I have, and you have a reason to hate Mrs. Archard. So you conjured up your dead lover's spirit and sent him off to kill his wife, only he wouldn't do it. Which," he concluded, "brings us back to right now."

Melissa Vair stared at him, her emotional force seemingly blunted—if not by the logic of Ryland's arguments, then at least by the sheer extent of them. At least she seemed to fasten on the one thing that made any sense to her.

"Josh...he didn't hurt her?" she said in a very small voice, like a lost child. Then, some of her spirit reasserted itself and she snapped, "No! He just wasn't powerful enough! He had to gain strength before he could do more than frighten her!"

Ryland shook his head.

"He smashed through my defenses and put me comatose into the Medical Center. He _chose_ not to attack his wife. Even fueled with the vengeful rage that _you_ filled him with, he knew it was wrong. It's only you who have confused tragedy with guilt."

"Don't you say that! He loved me! He loved _me_!"

Ryland sighed heavily.

"I'm sorry."

~X X X~

The crackling bursts in the air were shifting color, from violet to indigo and blue. As Lyon and Mrs. Archard watched nervously, the light began to draw itself together, building itself into glowing balls of light, roughly spherical and around the size of a human head. They had no features, made no sound, and yet Lyon had the sensation of a terrible, aching _need_ emanating from them. She couldn't understand _how_ she felt it; the only thing she could think of was that Ryland was correct about the nature of Photon, that whatever soul an android possessed could feel _these_ souls seeking her, lusting after the life within her.

The hungry ghosts had come.


	8. Chapter 8

Silently, the pulsing spheres of blue light drifted towards Lyon and Mrs. Archard from the four corners of the room.

"Th-those aren't Josh!" Mrs. Archard gasped, clinging to Lyon in her fright. "What are they?"

"Ryland calls them 'hungry ghosts,'" Lyon said, even as she drew her railgun. She had no idea if it would be effective, a Photon weapon tuned to damage physical objects, but it was the only option she had. "The unusual Photon atmosphere created by the apparition's presence seems to have attracted them."

There were eleven of them in the room, which given their speed and the size of the residence suite was too many to avoid for long. Lyon fired at the nearest one; the shot connected with a small flash but she couldn't tell if it had had any effect. She snapped off two more shots and was gratified that the hungry ghost's movement slowed.

The problem was that the _other_ ghosts' speed seemed to _increase_.

Lyon grabbed Mrs. Archard and half-dragged the woman with her as she dodged around the slowed spirit, launching a damage trap in her wake. The trap burst in a fiery wave that engulfed several of the pursuing orbs, and almost at once Lyon felt that terrible, dreadful sensation of _need_ wash over her. Mrs. Archard whimpered in fear. Lyon shook the feeling off and fired twice more, stopping one of the ghosts that had dived at her just inches short of contact.

_That's it_, she thought, beginning to make sense of the ghosts' behavior. The shots from her railgun, the energy of her trap, these were both Photon energy. They were a different kind of Photon than that of her life or Mrs. Archard's, but still Photon energy nonetheless and that was what the ghosts hungered after. Being struck by Lyon's attacks helped to give them what they craved, gave them a bit of satiation, and so slowed their pursuit. The other ghosts could sense this somehow—who knew through what process?—and so came after them all the harder.

Escape was therefore possible, Lyon considered. They could make it to the residence door. The question of how far the hungry ghosts could pursue them out of the Photon-saturated atmosphere was a different question. Could they spread throughout the ship, endangering everyone on board _Pioneer 2_, or would they fade away?

It would have been convenient for Ryland to be there offering answers (and area-effect techniques), but he was not. Without information about the ghosts' abilities, self-preservation and protecting Mrs. Archard took priority. Lyon launched traps to her flanks to provide cover, and fired straight ahead to hopefully open a path. Still pulling Mrs. Archard along, Lyon ducked low and crawled _under_ the slowed orbs in front of her. The door was there and she opened it, but just then two of the spheres dove at her, too fast to avoid. One engulfed the railgun and she released it at once; the weapon hung in the air in the heart of the spirit for several long seconds, then fell to the floor inert, the red light of its sighting bar gone.

The second spirit crashed into Lyon herself and rebounded away as a flash of light surrounded her. The symbols again glowed on her chest, then flickered and died; that protection was finished now. Lyon managed to pull Mrs. Archard out of the way of a third orb but now the others were approaching and she'd had to take a step away from the door.

She twisted away in time to barely avoid yet another attack, but this time it brushed against her and the effect was immediate and terrifying for the android. Her internal sensors registered not only the Photon drain from her energy reserves but also the hardware damage as certain Photon-dependent circuits were forcibly shut down by contact with the hungry ghost. A human might have screamed or winced in pain, but she did not feel any—what was the use, after all, of programming a damage response that further incapacitated the injured over and beyond the actual injury?—but there was no stopping the fear for her life. There would be no Reverser, no Moon Atomizer if these things swarmed her; they would snuff her out entirely beyond hope of repair.

Mrs. Archard, on the other hand, _did_ scream when one struck her, and dropped to her knees. Lyon was still holding on to her, and the sudden force of her body falling tugged her off-balance. It was only a second before she compensated, but she wasn't a RAcast, its massive body near-impervious to ordinary blows, and it _did_ take her that second.

It was enough.

One ghost just grazed the hem of her "skirt" while another took her in the back of the shoulder. The draining jolts were sudden and, combined with the aftereffects of the encounter with the Archard apparition, nearly fatal. She crashed to the carpet, "alive"—for the moment—but inert. The ghosts arrowed in towards them, wasting no time.

Then _he_ was there, the apparition of Joshua Archard, hovering above the prostrate figure of his wife. For a moment Lyon thought that Ryland had failed after all and the situation had gone from bad to worse. Then she observed that the twisted expression of rage was gone from its face, replaced by worry. It thrust its hand forward, lashing out with more of the crackling bolts of violet energy. They surrounded the floating orbs like nets entrapping fish or a spiderweb being spun about prey. Then, one by one, the glow of each hungry ghost was snuffed out as if it were a candle flame and not a deadly spirit. At last they were all gone, and only Archard himself was there, hovering above the two women. He looked down at his wife, who met his gaze with wild eyes.

_I'm...sorry._

Then he, too, was gone. Mrs. Archard buried her face in her hands and began to weep.

~X X X~

"It must be a deliberate tweak," Lyon complained. "One of the pseudo-human behaviors in my personality program. There's no possible way the replacement circuitry in my shoulder is any different than the rest of my construction, and yet I can feel a twitch in it every now and then. It must be to simulate convalescence."

"After seventeen thousand meseta's worth of repairs, I'd think that a few twitches were a small price. This wasn't just damage to be healed by Trimate; your hardware was permanently compromised! It's lucky that Weinstine Co. settled the expenses on account of Mrs. Archard's claims."

"Well, Melissa Vair did engage in unauthorized Photon research on company time which resulted in injury to a government official." Lyon shrugged. Both shoulders moved perfectly. "That could have snowballed."

Above them, workmen slowly lowered one of the holoprojectors to the Guild deck. Only two pumpkins remained, and they'd be gone in an hour. Another Halloween come and gone.

"Maybe, although it would be hard to prove. I mean, essentially you'd have to establish that occultism and magic really have some basis in fact, then start drawing casual connections. Dr. Montague could possibly prove a basis for charges, but he's busy enough as it is dealing with life-or-death problems."

"Politics isn't about proof, Ryland. You know that."

"True."

"And at least Miss Vair was committed to psychiatric care, which she probably needs more than punishment."

"Probably," he agreed.

"And Mrs. Archard has had some kind of closure to the tragedy of her marriage's failure and her husband's death, since Archard came back to save her."

"It would have made a better story if Miss Vair had realized her wrongdoing and sent Archard's spirit to rescue his wife."

"You're sympathetic to her and wanted a happy ending on her behalf?" Lyon realized. "Why?"

"Well, Archard was the real 'bad guy' in all this. Mrs. Archard might not have been the best wife, and Vair slept with a married man, but it was Archard who cheated, who seduced a younger, obviously emotional co-worker. Why should he get to play hero?"

Lyon tipped her head to one side, simulating "looking at a person from a new perspective."

"I did not realize you were so sentimental about marriage, Ryland."

He blushed a faint pink.

"Well, I haven't really had many discussions with you on the subject."

"True. You should consider it, though. After all, you trust me with your life on a near-daily basis. It should not be much more difficult to trust me with emotional revelations." Even as she said it, a memory flag popped and she observed that this was actually one of the cultural differences between genders; customarily though not exclusively males found emotional trust more difficult than physical or ethical trust. _How odd._

Ryland chuckled and unknowingly echoed her database's sentiments.

"Saying that definitely proves you're a woman, Lyon."

"Of course." She changed the subject. "With respect to the Archards and Vair, it's probably best if you don't try to assign any one the role of villain. As you organics so often do, they all made mistakes in their personal lives and have suffered for them, but there was no ill intent at the heart of it."

"At least it was an honest, human tragedy, not something spawned by Ragol. We don't see a lot of that."

"True."

"And you survived Halloween. Of course, you did spend prime trick-or-treating hours in the Weinstine Co. technical laboratory."

"I'd have probably just ended up with a bag full of Dimates."

"Lyon, you're an android. You don't eat sweets. For that matter, you don't _eat_."

"It's the principle of the thing," she said archly.

"Aha!" Ryland exclaimed.

"'Aha' what?"

"_That's_ why you don't like Halloween! You're jealous because you're an android and you can't have any trick-or-treat candy!"

"I am _not_!"

"You are!" he laughed.

There was only one proper response to that. Lyon flipped his ponytail into his nose. He still got the last word, though.

"Achoo!"


End file.
